


Ink on a Page

by Engineer104



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, an Inkheart AU basically, significant enough that it needs a tag too whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-02-17 00:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13065456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Pidge has lived a normal - if unstable - life with her mother for the last fourteen of her sixteen years, but even the fantastical books she reads never could've prepared her for the wild twist it takes when an 'old friend' of her mother's appears unannounced at their door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You ever, uh, impulsively start writing fic even though you have a million things you should be doing...including writing _other_ fic?? Anyway, I am certainly planning to continue this, but I got excited so I went ahead and posted the first chapter
> 
> In any case, remember the book _Inkheart_?? well, i barely remember it so this will not be retreading that story, i promise
> 
> also there is a possibility that romantic pairings will crop up, but they will never become the focus ~~and if you've read anything else by me you'll know which one lol~~

At a brisk knock on the front door, Pidge took off her headphones and turned her face towards the sound, wondering who would be visiting so late on a weeknight. Unsure if her mother was even still awake, she crept out of her bedroom, down the hall, and to the door, right as someone on the other side knocked again.

“I’m coming,” she grumbled. She stood on her toes to peer through the peephole, and when she ascertained that their late-night visitor didn’t _look_ particularly threatening, she unlocked and opened the door.

The woman standing on the landing was tall – taller than the average man, Pidge thought – with unblemished dark skin and silvery hair that shone in the dark, reflecting the streetlights like the moon reflected the sun. Her eyes gleamed blue when they drifted down and landed on Pidge, and she smiled.

“Hello,” she said in a lyrical accent. “Is Colleen here?”

Pidge blinked, stunned. There was something… _ethereal_ about this woman, something she couldn’t put her finger on. “I…yeah,” she said. “I’ll go…get her.” Without a second thought, she slammed the door shut and locked it, ignoring the woman’s cry of alarm.

“Mom!” she called.

“What?” said Colleen, poking her head into the entryway. She looked at Pidge, wide-eyed and questioning. “Who was at the door?”

“Some lady asking for you,” Pidge said. “I panicked and shut the door in her face.”

“This late?” Colleen sighed and approached, waving her aside so she could check the peephole. Pidge clasped her hands and waited, watching her mother frown, lines of concern deepening on her forehead and at the corners of her eyes.

“Do you know her?” Pidge asked.

“Yes,” Colleen said. She didn’t elaborate, though Pidge imagined she must _surely_ sense her curiosity, but she opened the door and stiffly greeted the woman, “Allura?”

Pidge peeked around her mother to see the woman’s – Allura’s – face smooth, irritation vanishing and immediately replaced with a pleasant smile. “Colleen,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” Colleen agreed.

Pidge looked back and forth between the two women, uncertain what to make of it – her mother’s aloofness and the stranger’s politeness. Perhaps Allura was an old business colleague or contact, since she appeared too young – maybe a few years older than Pidge herself – to be a former classmate.

(Most people, apparently, kept in touch with old classmates, something Pidge struggled to do despite having so much ‘experience’ meeting new ones.)

“May I come in?” Allura wondered, her smile looking uncomfortably frozen in place.

Colleen glanced over her shoulder, then at Pidge, as if only then realizing she was still there. But then she said, “Yes, I guess you can.” She stepped aside, making room for Allura to enter before shutting the door behind her. As she inspected their surroundings – everything from the small television set to the atomic clock on the wall – Colleen asked, “Would you like anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” said Allura, turning her head towards Colleen. “I hope this won’t take long.”

Colleen’s face said that she hoped the same louder than any words ever could, and as the two adult women sat at the small kitchen table, Pidge hovered, curious. But before Allura broached whatever topic she had on her mind – whatever shared history she and her mother had – Colleen looked at her and said, “Pidge, please go to your room.”

Her eyes widened, disappointment making her heart heavy. “But—”

“Katie,” Colleen said, stern. She almost _never_ used Pidge’s given name, only saying it when it was _especially_ serious, and hearing it now, for the first time since she started high school, shocked Pidge into obedience.

She retreated to her bedroom, back stiff, but rather than closing the door, she left it cracked. She retrieved the empty water glass from her bedside table and rested it against the door, then she pressed her ear to the bottom.

“…find me?” Colleen was saying.

“Does it matter?” Allura said. “I understand that you don’t wish to be found by the likes of me, Colleen, but I promise that I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes. _‘Likes of me’?_ There was no hint of bitterness in her voice, as if Allura only stated a fact.

“That’s what you said last time,” Colleen said testily, “and after _that_ you promised I would never have to see you again.”

There was a _last time_? Pidge set the glass on the carpet and hurriedly rushed to her desk, grabbing a pen and notebook and turning it to a blank page. She settled back on the floor and leaned against the door with the glass in her right hand, notebook balanced on her lap with pen poised to write.

“…lied,” Allura said, sounding regretful. “But circumstances have changed, and I have reason to believe Zarkon has plans.”

Pidge scribbled the unfamiliar name down, spelling it the way it sounded.

“Zarkon always has plans,” Colleen said dismissively, and Pidge imagined her waving a hand. “And he’s welcome to them, so long as he leaves me and my family out of it.”

“You see, I think _that_ is the problem, Colleen. My contact inside claims he’s searching for someone with a _silver tongue_.”

 _A ‘silver tongue’,_ Pidge wrote. _A smooth talker? A diplomat? A businessman?_

“Well, it won’t be me,” her mother said.

Pidge’s hand froze. Colleen Holt? A _silver-tongued smooth talker_? She smirked at the thought; though her mother was quite the accomplished journalist, she spoke clinically and to the point, without any honeyed words. She was good at appealing to reason, and awful at manipulating emotions.

At least, that was how Pidge _thought_ someone with a ‘silver tongue’ would be like.

“It’s possible it won’t be,” Allura seemed to agree, “but just in case, I would like to take you and your daughter under my protection.”

“And what use is your _protection_?” Colleen demanded. “It didn’t save my husband and son!”

_What?_

“That was—those circumstances were different!” Allura retorted, immediately defensive.

“Well, I see no difference!” her mother said, the screeching of a chair’s legs against tile signaling that she stood. “It’s thanks to you and your _Voltron_ that they’re gone!”

 _Voltron?_ Pidge thought she recognized that as the title of a dusty old science fiction novel sitting on the bookshelf in her mother’s bedroom.

“Oh, if you want to point fingers, then _I_ am not to blame!” Allura held her ground. “I’m not the one with the silver tongue, Colleen! I’m not the one that unleashed Zarkon on your world!”

“I’m not the one who had the responsibility to stop him in theirs, _Princess_!”

Pidge put her pen down and closed the notebook, momentarily overwhelmed with all this information. What the hell were they even _talking_ about?

“All right,” Allura said, voice lower, so quiet that Pidge strained to hear her. “Perhaps we both are to blame.”

“Maybe,” Colleen agreed grudgingly, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I have a _different_ responsibility.”

“Then we are at an impasse?”

“Yes,” Colleen said.

“And I can’t convince you?” said Allura. She sounded regretful, even a little sad. “I won’t force you, Colleen, but I do wish—”

“No.”

“Colleen—”

“No,” Pidge’s mother said. “While we speak of responsibility, protecting my daughter is _mine_ , not yours. So thank you, Allura, but I decline.”

Pidge held her breath during a pregnant pause ready to give birth at any moment, mind carefully blank as if the noise of her thoughts would muffle the voices coming from the kitchen.

Finally, Allura said, “Very well. I am…sorry you feel that way.” Her chair’s legs scraped against the kitchen floor, heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway and towards Pidge’s room as she walked to the front door.

Colleen followed her, and their voices became too distant for Pidge to hear, so she dropped the glass – it landed softly on carpet without breaking – and leaned her head against the door, stunned. Her mind reeled with what she heard, and even as she stared at her sparse, confused notes, she couldn’t make any sense of it.

Who was Zarkon? And what did her mother have to do with him?

The front door slammed shut, and a few beats later, Pidge heard her mother’s footsteps approaching. She quickly tossed her notebook underneath her bed and moved to sit in her desk chair, settling her headphones back over her ears right in time for Colleen to open the door without knocking.

“You were eavesdropping, weren’t you?” Colleen asked without a hint of judgment in her tone.

Pidge slowly and deliberately took off her headphones and turned to face her mother. “Who’s Zarkon?” she said, deciding there was no shame in confessing her crime after all.

Colleen’s face – already gloomy – darkened. “It doesn’t matter,” she said.

“Yes, it does,” Pidge insisted. “You sounded”—and it hit her, why the conversation between her mother and Allura unnerved her so, besides a simple deficit of information—“ _scared_.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Colleen.

“But—”

“Pidge,” Colleen said. When Pidge only stared at her, wide-eyed, she smiled and continued, “Allura is just an old friend, but we parted badly last time we met. Love, you have _nothing_ to worry about.”

Pidge glanced towards her bed, towards the notebook that she feared implied otherwise, but then her eyes drifted to her mother, whose reassuring smile _begged_ her to believe it. So despite the questions – despite the mention of characters she didn’t know, including her _father and brother_ – Pidge said, “Okay.”

 _It’ll be okay,_ Colleen always said every time they moved and she had to change schools _again_.

 _It’ll be okay,_ Pidge thought as her mother came in and kissed her cheek before bidding her goodnight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge and Colleen pack up and move cross country

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the record, i do headcanon Pidge as a pretty avid reader

Colleen woke Pidge up early the next day, but when she complained, her mother retorted that it was already nine.

“But it’s _Saturday_ ,” Pidge whined, pulling her covers back up over her head. “I don’t have school, and I have all day to finish my homework.”

Colleen tugged the covers away from her face, staring down at her with hands resting on her hips. “I’ve got a new assignment now.”

That shocked her awake, and she shoved her blankets back and sat up. “We’ve only been here for three months,” she pointed out. “How can you have a new one _already_?”

Colleen sat at the edge of the bed, patting her knee comfortingly though she wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I finished this one quicker than I expected,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, love, but it’s time to go. You can transfer to a new school—”

“ _This_ one is still new,” Pidge grumbled.

“—and you’ll pick right back up where you left off.”

“Can’t I be homeschooled instead?” Pidge wondered. “I looked into it already, and you don’t even have to do anything except make sure I’m following the curriculum, and—”

“School is good for you, love,” Colleen said, finally looking her in the eye. “You need to see people, sometimes; you can’t be a shut-in.”

“I’m not a shut-in,” Pidge said, pulling her knees up to her face and wrapping her arms around her legs.

Colleen only hummed in response – which was better than contradicting her, but Pidge knew she wanted to.

“Is it because of Allura?” Pidge dared to ask.

Her mother visibly stiffened, her lips pinched together, but she said, “No.”

Pidge could tell when she lied, but she also knew when she would refuse to alter her answer.

Then Colleen, changing the subject, said, “It won’t be so bad this time, I think. We’ll be close to a place that might interest you.”

Pidge perked up at that. “Where are we going?”

“D.C.”

Pidge grinned. “Really? Can we go to the Air and Space Museum?”

Her mother smiled. “Yes, of course we can,” she said. “I’ll take you there next weekend, if you want, but today we have to pack.”

For once excited about the prospect of picking up and moving – the reason they didn’t have many belongings, aside from electronics and books – Pidge jumped out of bed and across the hall into the bathroom, ready to start the day. And after brushing her teeth and changing her clothes, she returned to her room and began throwing clothes out of her closet and neatly arranging books into old cardboard boxes.

Colleen frequently bemoaned Pidge’s uncanny ability to accumulate clutter despite how often they moved, everything from blank notebooks with pretty bindings to computer parts whenever she tried to build her own (she had yet to succeed without the hardware catching fire). Along with a suitcase stuffed with all her clothes and shoes and a few boxes of _just_ books, Pidge also dropped assorted knickknacks into another box, pens and electronic parts and souvenirs from the places she and her mother lived in, for however little time.

At least they only ever rented furnished apartments, so only the blankets, pillows, and bedspreads were stuffed into the tiny backseat of Colleen’s pickup truck, boxes and suitcases stored in the covered bed. Pidge sorted everything into place while Colleen settled their lease with the landlord, and by Sunday morning they were on their way east to Washington, D.C., a book in Pidge’s lap while she entertained herself on the long drive.

“Why don’t you watch the scenery outside, love?” Colleen wondered as they drove on a winding parkway through trees thick with autumn leaves.

Pidge turned a page and didn’t look up. “There are trees everywhere.”

“You’ll get carsick,” her mother warned.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Besides, I’m almost done with the first chapter.”

Colleen sighed, and when she slowed the car through a curve, Pidge felt the motion in her stomach, faint enough that she could ignore it…and therefore prove her mother wrong. But Colleen said, “Haven’t you read that one before?”

After marking her place with a finger, Pidge turned the book over to stare at the cover of a cheesy horror novel – _The Monster in Miami_ was exciting, if not exactly _classy_ – and the monster it portrayed. “Yeah, but I like it.”

Colleen glanced at her, frowning skeptically, but then she shrugged.

Pidge smirked and said, “I’ll read something else, if you think I should.”

Her mother smiled. “You have another book in here with you?”

“Yeah, I have this one’s sequel.” She nudged her backpack, sitting on the floor between her feet, with her toes. “But…I saw a book on your shelf the other day”— _careful_ —“and I want to read it.”

“Sure, anything you want, love.”

“Oh, really?” Pidge stuck her bookmark into the horror novel and turned to regard her mother, propping her elbow onto the armrest and resting her chin in her hand. “Then when we get to D.C., can I borrow _Voltron_?”

Colleen slammed on the brakes, and Pidge jerked in her seat as the truck came to a screeching halt. The car behind them honked their horn and swerved wide around them, and Pidge’s heart pounded in alarm, keeping pace with the thrum of the engine. She stared at her mother’s face, trying to assess her reaction, but Colleen kept her face carefully blank.

“No.”

Pidge frowned, hands tightly gripping the armrest; she should’ve expected as much, but disappointment still made her heart plummet. “But—”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Colleen said. The truck accelerated, and they drove in silence for a few minutes, the only sound that of the radio’s speakers playing Queen.

Pidge faced forward, hands in her lap. She stared out the window, trying to admire the view like her mother suggested, but her buzzing thoughts occupied her.

“What’s the book about anyway?” she asked, voice quiet.

To her surprise, Colleen replied, “It’s about a war.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “That’s…that’s it?”

“Basically.”

“So you don’t want me to read it,” Pidge guessed, but before Colleen could respond, she suggested, “Maybe _you_ could read it to me?” She couldn’t remember her mother ever reading aloud to her, though she _had_ told her bedtime stories when she was younger.

Colleen tapped her fingers on the steering wheel and said, “That’s not much better.” Without waiting for Pidge to contradict her, she reached for the volume knob on the radio.

‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ succeeded in distracting Pidge from her pressing questions, at least for the moment.

* * *

They arrived at the apartment complex late in the evening, and Pidge waited in the truck while Colleen went into the leasing office to pick up their keys. She read from _The Monster in Miami_ by streetlight, eyes glued to the page despite knowing she approached her least favorite part of the book.

Her mother opening the door startled her, and she reluctantly closed the book when she started the engine and drove into the complex towards their new apartment. “We’re in Building G, Apartment 5,” said Colleen, handing Pidge a key once she parked outside the right building.

Pidge took the key, thumb smoothing over rough pastel green paint. “G for green?” she wondered.

Colleen chuckled. “Maybe.”

They got out of the car, unloading as much as they could hold, and climbed up the stairs to the apartment door. Pidge glanced around the complex, taking in as much as she could in the low lighting, while Colleen unlocked and opened the door.

Exhausted, Pidge dropped her backpack and the box she held and collapsed face first onto the worn-looking brown sofa. She heard the flipping of a light switch, but the room remained dark to her, her eyes closed and face pressed into a rough couch cushion.

“Come on, love,” Colleen told her, patting the leg that stuck up in the air. “We need to unload everything before we can sleep.”

Pidge groaned but allowed her to convince her to follow her back outside and to the truck.

Afterwards, they made turkey sandwiches for dinner, and Pidge started unpacking her bedroom. She sighed when she realized the bookshelf in this room was too small for all her books, despite the whole space being larger than her old bedroom.

Pidge gave her favorite books shelf space and left the rest in a box. She dropped her current read on the bedside table, and set up her computer on the desk. Ignoring her suitcase of clothes for now, she booted up her computer and logged into the Wi-Fi.

A click later, the cursor blinked, waiting for her to type a query into a search engine. She tapped her finger against her mousepad, and after a glance at her closed bedroom door, she reached into her backpack and found the notebook she’d started compiling notes in. After flipping to the relevant page, Pidge searched for a local public library, navigated to its online catalog, and typed ‘Voltron’ into the search bar.

No results.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at it; so it wasn’t a very popular book? She returned to the search engine and looked _Voltron_ up from there, but to her surprise she found no related results with that.

“This is so weird,” she muttered. She scanned her notes from the night of Allura’s visit and searched ‘Zarkon’, and when that turned up nothing, she looked up ‘Allura’.

Still nothing.

Pidge sighed and shut her laptop. Maybe she could sift through Colleen’s books when she was out. But considering how overprotective her mother was, even staying home alone would be difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise next chapter will be more exciting and introduce some familiar faces ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First days are hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I should've been saying this from the beginning but:
> 
> special thanks to [rueitae](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/) for letting me bounce ideas off her, and helping me refine them too

On Tuesday morning, Pidge sat beside her mother outside the principal’s office at her new school, legs swinging impatiently while they waited for their appointment to enroll her.

It was a dingy public school in Virginia, not quite what she’d expected from D.C., between the damp moldy smell and the peeling lilac paint on the walls. In fact, Pidge couldn’t even tell what the school’s colors were, much less its mascot.

Finally, the office door shot open, bouncing against the wall with a slam, and a black-haired boy in a red leather jacket stormed out, posture stiff and a scowl on his face. He scanned the room, as if looking for something, but when he found it – or didn’t – his face smoothed. He hefted a black backpack and left, ignoring the receptionist’s call of “ _Keith!_ ”

Pidge covered her mouth to muffle an involuntary giggle, but when Colleen shot a stern glance at her, she tried to relax her face into something more neutral and less amused. “Someone’s having a bad day,” she couldn’t resist quipping.

Colleen rolled her eyes but smiled grudgingly.

Another minute later, the principal – a Mr. Iverson – emerged from his office and approached them. “Mrs. Holt?” he asked, holding his hand out to Colleen.

She glanced at it and stood, and they shook hands. Pidge then followed them into the office, and Mr. Iverson closed the door behind them while they took seats in front of the desk.

“I’m sorry about the wait,” he said, settling behind his desk. “We had an unprecedented disciplinary issue.” His face flushed red, but he otherwise looked unaffected by this ‘issue’.

Pidge didn’t respond, despite her curiosity, but Colleen replied, “It’s nothing, Mr. Iverson. I’m just happy we can enroll Katie so quickly.”

“Of course,” Iverson said.

While he and her mother discussed forms and emergency contacts and vaccines, Pidge played with her watch. Her hands itched for something to do, to at least hold a book in her hands while she waited, but Colleen refused to get her a cell phone – something about not being able to afford one, which Pidge thought a silly excuse since _everyone_ owned one in these ‘modern times’.

She wouldn’t even buy Pidge a prepaid phone like she had for herself; then again, there was no one Pidge would call or message if she _did_ have a cell, and she at least had an email address.

Pidge slouched in her seat, feet tapping an impatient beat. There was just so much she could _do_ during this time, like research universities, or read, or figure out what the hell _Voltron_ was…

“…she has to do is see the registrar to set up her course schedule, and then she can start her day.”

“That’s great to hear, Mr. Iverson,” Colleen said brightly. She stood up, tapping Pidge’s shoulder to get her to follow.

Iverson showed them out of his office and to the registrar’s, leaving them again after telling them to ‘have a good day’. Pidge rolled her eyes and asked her mother, “Mom, how long did you tell him we’d be here?”

“Don’t be that way, Pidge,” Colleen said. “Just act like you always do, as if we’ll live here for the rest of your life.”

Pidge scowled. “I’ve never acted like that.”

Colleen sighed but didn’t retort; she was quick to hand Pidge off to the registrar though, claiming she had to go into work. She kissed Pidge’s cheek and said, “Have a good day, and I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah.” Pidge forced herself to smile for her mother, but it dropped the moment she was faced with the registrar, a middle-aged lady with graying brown hair and thick-framed black glasses. She looked over her transcript unsmilingly, and after a few minutes of silence – apart from the steady dripping of a water cooler in the hallway – a printer whirred to life and regurgitated Pidge’s schedule.

The registrar handed it to her. “Make sure everything is agreeable.”

Pidge scanned the paper, raising an eyebrow when she noticed she’d been enrolled in AP literature rather than AP language, like she’d been taking at her last school. But she said, “Looks good.”

“Then go to class,” said the registrar, attention leaving Pidge and returning to her computer.

“Thanks,” Pidge said. She picked her backpack up and left the office, and when the receptionist verified it was already second period, she meandered towards her history classroom, past plain and decorated lockers – her homeroom teacher would probably assign her one the following morning – and bathrooms and water fountains.

All public high schools were much the same, Pidge decided, and she should know since this was her fifth in less than three years.

* * *

As luck would have it, only her third period teacher – for her piano elective – had her stand in front of the class and introduce herself, at least by lunchtime. But rather than following her classmates to the cafeteria after class, she detoured to the library to check out her course textbooks.

“Good morning,” the librarian greeted her.

“Hi,” Pidge said. “I need my books for class.” She passed the librarian her schedule.

She read through it and said, “All right, wait here.” She left, leaving Pidge alone at the circulation desk.

The library, at least, was bigger than she’d dared to hope after seeing the state of the rest of the school, and she glanced around with interest. A worthwhile place to spend her lunches, even after today, and she grinned when she spotted a broad boy that looked like he was in her grade reading at a table.

The librarian returned with a stack of books under her arms, and she checked them out for Pidge one by one, including a copy of _Frankenstein_. Then, she pushed them towards her, along with Pidge’s temporary library card, and Pidge hefted them and moved off to an unoccupied table.

She flipped through _Frankenstein_ , wondering at what part her AP lit class was, before setting it aside with the other textbooks and pulling _The Monster in Miami_ from her backpack to read instead, hoping to at least reach the protagonist’s little brother’s funeral before the end of lunch period.

But someone else had other plans.

“Hey,” said an unfamiliar voice, and Pidge glanced up at the boy she’d spotted reading. He pointed at her book and said, “How do you like it so far?”

Pidge looked down at her book’s cover and said, “I like it enough to reread it.”

The boy chuckled. “It _is_ pretty fun.” He showed her his book, and Pidge’s eyes widened when she recognized a well-loved paperback copy of the sequel. “You read this one yet?”

“Not yet,” Pidge admitted. “I just got a copy of it, but I wanted to reread this one first.”

To her surprise, the boy pulled back the chair across from her and joined her. “Hopefully you won’t be disappointed.”

“Are you?”

“Not yet, actually!” he said brightly, flipping rapidly through the book. “I’m on page fifty and no one’s died an awful, unnecessary death.”

“Yet,” Pidge said, flashing him a smile.

“Right,” he said. He set the book aside and offered his hand. “I’m Hunk.”

“Pidge,” she said, shaking his much larger hand.

“Are you new here?” the boy – Hunk – wondered.

“It’s my first day,” she told him.

“Oh, what grade are you in?” Hunk asked. “Ninth?”

Pidge wrinkled her nose, unsurprised he thought so. “Eleventh,” she said.

“Oh,” Hunk said, smiling at her apologetically. “I am too. Maybe we have some classes together?”

Pidge understood the implication and reached into her backpack to tug out her slightly wrinkled schedule. She passed it to him, and he smoothed the paper out and examined it.

“Hey, we have physics together fourth period,” he said cheerfully. Then he raised an eyebrow. “You have AP lit even though you’re not in twelfth grade?”

Pidge shrugged and said, “The registrar probably made a mistake, but I doubt I’ll be here long enough for it to make much difference.”

Hunk looked at her curiously. “You move around a lot?” When Pidge nodded, he laughed and said, “I’ve lived here my entire life. I don’t envy you though, since I like it here.”

Pidge smiled wryly. “Really?”

“Well, yeah! Don’t you?”

“I—”

The bell ringing the end of lunch interrupted her, and Pidge took her schedule back and stuffed it into her backpack. She collected her books and said to Hunk, “Guess I’m off to class.”

“Wait, we have the same next class,” Hunk said. “We can walk together.”

Pidge frowned, but reluctantly agreed; at least she wouldn’t get lost on the way.

* * *

Physics passed without incident, and without the teacher asking her to introduce herself to the class; all she did was assign Pidge an empty desk and tell her she was exempt from an exam the next day.

AP lit, however, proved to be a trial.

Not only did her teacher – what was a man with a _doctorate_ doing teaching at a public high school anyway? – force her to stand at the front of the class to introduce herself, but he also quizzed her about the entire plot of _Frankenstein_ …despite the latest assigned reading being up to only the third chapter.

Dr. Yurak sat behind his desk, looking quite comfortable there while Pidge sweated under the scrutiny of her classmates, all of whom were older than her thanks to her neglecting to tell the registrar that she didn’t belong in this class. “So how does the monster plan to die?” he asked.

Pidge suppressed a relieved smile; she’d read the book two summers ago for fun. “Setting himself on fire, after Victor dies.”

Dr. Yurak’s smirk faltered. “And does he succeed?”

Pidge rolled her eyes and said, “Who knows? He disappears on a raft, and Whalton never sees him again.”

He leaned towards her, tapping a fingernail against the surface of his desk, the clicking grating to Pidge’s ears. “And what do _you_ think the theme of the book is?”

Pidge shrugged, but she said, “Isn’t it obvious? Victor developed a hypothesis and performed an experiment based on that, without considering the ethics of it.” She clasped her hands together, growing more comfortable in the surety of her explanation the longer she spoke. “He reanimated a bunch of stitched together body parts – that he went _grave robbing_ for – and for all intents and purposes created life. And _then_ he absolved himself of any responsibility for his experiment, completely disregarding its will, and was forced to pay the consequences of his own misguided attempt to create life.” She glanced sideways at Dr. Yurak and added, “So he played God, and his folly was pretending like he didn’t until the outcome stared him in the face.”

“And the theme…?” Dr. Yurak prompted.

“If you must conduct a scientific experiment, make sure you’re willing to see it through to the end; even without considering if the experiment itself is _ethical_ , the scientist is responsible for observing and mitigating the consequences. I mean, even the inventor of the semi-automatic rifle regretted its role in American gun culture, so you can argue that he’s partially to blame for the frequency and ease of modern gun violence, even if tragedies like school shootings were never his intention.”

Pidge smiled, pleased with her answer, though her classmates only stared at her in silence. Her smile faded, and she said, “Uh, spoiler alert?”

“Sit down,” Dr. Yurak commanded briskly.

Pidge did, unsure why he dismissed her so quickly – and why he’d sought to quiz her in the first place. He stood up to start teaching, but before he spoke a word, a boy with blond hair glanced her way and met her eyes.

“Nerd,” he said, just audibly enough for everyone – including the teacher – to hear.

Pidge heard the insult in his tone, and when Dr. Yurak paid the boy no mind – when he began teaching – her heart sunk into her stomach, a lump forming in her throat. It was silly, feeling like this, rejected after a teacher humiliated her in front of her new classmates on her first day at this school, and yet…

Pidge made sure her tears stayed unshed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vaccinate your children, kids!!
> 
>   ~~i hated _Frankenstein_ lol~~
> 
>  what do you think so far?? leave a comment or come yell at me on [tumblr](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School still sucks, and _Voltron_ is still a mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even shorter chapter than usual today. I apologize

“What’s this job about anyway?” Pidge asked her mother over dinner the evening after her first day at the new school.

Colleen spun her fork, collecting spaghetti Bolognese onto it, and considered. “It’s a project for the Smithsonian,” she explained, smiling. “Maybe I can take you along when you have a day off.”

“What’re you writing?” Pidge wondered. She only picked at her food, glum, and avoided Colleen’s eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to be truly curious about her new job. She only asked now to deflect from the questions Colleen would ask about school, questions that Pidge wasn’t sure she could answer without either breaking something or bursting into tears.

“Well, it will actually be an overview of a new exhibit at the Museum of Natural History.”

“Hmm.” Pidge stuffed her mouth with noodles, unsure what to say; they tasted more like cardboard than oregano and tomato in her current emotional state.

“And how was your first day, Pidge?” Colleen said, smiling at her. “You haven’t said much about it yet.”

“It was as good as any first day,” she said simply after she swallowed.

“Do you like your teachers?”

Pidge drank several gulps of water, almost draining her glass, but when she put it down, Colleen still looked at her patiently. So she said, “Some of them.”

Colleen raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what about the ones you don’t like?”

“Dr. Yurak is an ass,” she said.

“Pidge,” Colleen said with a sigh.

“What?” Pidge retorted, putting her fork down and crossing her arms. “He made me stand in front of the class and quizzed me on a book they were only three chapters into!”

“That’s very…rude of him,” Colleen said neutrally, though she frowned. “Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know,” Pidge grumbled. “Because he’s a sadist?”

“Love, he’s a teacher.”

She rolled her eyes until they landed on her plate, only halfway emptied. “There’s no reason he can’t be both.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Colleen agreed reluctantly. “Just make sure you don’t get on his bad side, and he can’t bother you.”

“I didn’t even do anything to get on his bad side today!” Pidge whined. She rubbed her face, ignoring her mother’s subsequent scolding that she was _eating_ , and said, “I already know I won’t have any friends to say goodbye to when we leave.”

“Pidge, love,” Colleen said, touching her wrist, “you really _won’t_ with that attitude.”

Pidge stared at her mother’s hand. “You weren’t _there_ , Mom,” she said.

“I know,” she conceded, “but I _was_ in high school once, and—”

“But did you change schools every few months?” Pidge demanded, wrenching her arm away. “Did _your_ mother move you around the country almost twice a year on average? Did _your_ mother get weird visitors at night, or refuse to let you read a particular book, or never tell you anything about your dad or your brother or—”

“Katie,” her mother interrupted, and Pidge halted her tirade and stared at her mother, guilt churning in her gut when she saw the redness ringing her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said, staring at her lap. “I shouldn’t have—”

“There were actually quite a few books my mother wouldn’t let me read,” Colleen said with a trace of humor – though it sounded forced. “For different reasons, I think, than the book you’re thinking of.”

“What reasons?” Pidge asked, noticing the opportunity and seizing it.

“Usually because there was sex,” Colleen admitted, shrugging, “but sometimes even—”

“That’s not what I meant. I _meant_ , for what reasons won’t you let me read _Voltron_?”

Colleen met her eyes. “Would you believe me if I said it’s because there’s a very graphic sex scene in it?”

Pidge smirked, sensing information. “Not at all.”

To her surprise, that made Colleen chuckle. “I didn’t think so.” But she immediately sobered, and she said, “It’s a very precious book to me. I used to read it to your father and brother.”

Pidge blinked, astonished, because though she hoped for an answer, _that_ was one she never imagined, and something more precious…yet disappointing. “ _That’s_ why?”

“Yes,” Colleen said, and if she didn’t know her mother better, Pidge wouldn’t have noticed the beat of hesitation just before.

* * *

It never did to make friends whenever Pidge moved; there was simply no point, and no way she could keep them after she inevitably left. So she avoided Hunk, even though it meant being lonely during lunch, and only saw him when they had physics.

She wished she could avoid people she _didn’t_ like as easily.

AP lit rapidly became Pidge’s least favorite class, all because Dr. Yurak had it out for her for a reason incomprehensible to her. He called her out more often than anyone else, sometimes because she’d finished her classwork early and pulled out a book for leisure reading. Once, she made the mistake of opening _The Monster in Miami_ , and despite the fact that she sat in the very back of the classroom, out of sight of everyone, he approached her while making his rounds and sneered at the book cover.

“And what sort of trash are you reading, Holt?” Dr. Yurak wondered. “A horror novel?” He snatched the book from her hands and examined the cover more closely. “A monster from the deep, huh?”

As he flipped through the pages, Pidge clenched her hands into fists, biting her lip to keep from saying something she’d regret, at least within his hearing.

“‘The monster emerged from the bay,’” Dr. Yurak read, “‘leaving its wet, flippered footprints in the sand. Javier saw his brother so close by, sunbathing and ignorant of the creeping predator approaching him’—”

Pidge pressed her lips together, because of _course_ he would pick out the worst part of the book to read aloud.

Dr. Yurak continued until the end of that chapter, and though she managed to remain stony-faced and distant throughout the reading, she couldn’t resist glaring at her teacher when he returned the book to her with a snide smile.

“And _that_ was an example of why not all fiction is considered literature,” Dr. Yurak announced, and the class burst into laughter.

Face burning with humiliation, Pidge stuffed _The Monster in Miami_ into her backpack and thought maybe the sequel wouldn’t be worth reading after all.

* * *

After school, Pidge searched through her mother’s books for something she hadn’t yet read. She wanted something to replace _The Monster in Miami_ , preferably a book without any cheesy cover art that would attract attention. She pulled volumes out at random, dismissing most nonfiction selections – she set aside a biography of Alan Turing for later – and a few plays. She flipped through an Agatha Christie book she’d never read, but replaced it on the shelf when she realized it was only a collection of short stories.

Finally, Pidge found an aged brown hardcover missing its jacket. She tugged it from the shelf, where an encyclopedia kept it pinned against a dictionary, and wondered why her typically organized mother had so unceremoniously stuffed a novel between reference texts.

She found her answer immediately.

“ _Voltron_?” Pidge traced the embossed gold title on the cover, momentarily captivated by its shine. She made to set it on the pile of books she wanted to take to her room, but Colleen approached her.

“What are you looking for, love?” she asked, and though she sounded curious rather than suspicious, Pidge still stiffened.

“Something I haven’t read yet,” she said.

“What have you found?” Colleen leaned over her, examining her choices, but when her eyes fell on _Voltron_ , her face darkened. “For God’s sake, Katie! How many times do I have to tell you that this book isn’t for you?” She snatched it right out of Pidge’s hands.

Pidge sprang up after her mother. “Why the hell not?” she demanded. “Mom, there _is_ something you’re not telling me about it.”

“You’re right,” Colleen admitted, tone harsh as she tucked the book underneath her arm. “And I have a damn good reason for it too.”

“ _Mom_ —”

“Pidge, you _know_ I wouldn’t keep it away without a good reason.”

“I know!” Pidge said, throwing up her arms. “But why can’t you _explain_?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” her mother told her, spinning on her heel and storming from the room.

She left Pidge fuming behind her. She crossed her arms and returned the other books she’d already taken from the shelf, deciding she wasn’t in the mood anyway. _They_ didn’t hold the answers she wanted.

* * *

Pidge found _Voltron_ entirely by accident that evening, after her mother went to bed, stuffed inside an empty cereal box. Her stomach growled, unsated unless she wanted Forbidden Knowledge of Oats, but she replaced that text with another of similar weight and size, and hid _Voltron_ inside her backpack.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge attempts to investigate _Voltron_

Pidge didn’t take the book out of her bag until lunchtime the following Monday, although she had ample opportunity to read over the weekend since her mother broke her promise to take her into D.C. to the Air and Space Museum, if unwillingly.

“I’m so sorry, love,” she’d said, barely glancing up from her laptop. “I have so much work I need to finish by Monday.”

“Can we do next weekend then?” Pidge asked hopefully.

“Nothing short of my death will stop me,” Colleen vowed, smiling.

Relieved, Pidge returned her smile, but a part of her still feared a cloud of tension hung over them since she discovered the book and Colleen hid it.

Her mother had yet to discover that Pidge stole it back.

She turned to the prologue at the start of her lunch period on Monday, grinning triumphantly as she started reading:

_This is the tale of Voltron, a mighty warrior forged from a comet, a weapon built by the courage of Lions, a conscious artifact linked by five pilots._

_This is the tale of King Zarkon, and how he made enemies of his allies and conquered the universe in his quest for power._

_This is the tale of King Alfor, alchemist turned soldier turned politician, Zarkon’s greatest friend…and foremost nemesis._

_And this is the tale of Princess—_

The book was wrenched from Pidge’s grip, and she gaped at her hands, looking up to see her blond classmate from AP lit.

“What are we reading today, nerd?” he wondered, turning to the page she’d been reading.

“Don’t you think it’s ironic that an AP student would call _another_ AP student a _nerd_?” Pidge retorted, struggling to regain control of the situation. She stood up, prepared to snatch the book back if she had to.

“I’m not the one who sits alone in the corner during lunch,” he said snidely. He turned a page slowly, deliberately, and for one heart-stopping moment she feared he would tear it out.

So Pidge tackled him, jumping onto his back and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“What the f—” He cut himself off when Pidge’s momentum pushed them over, and they collided with the ground.

Pidge had the leverage over him since she landed on top of him, reaching for the book, her knees digging into his stomach. He grunted and struggled beneath her, but the sounds of their fellow students shouting excitedly about a fight drowned him out. And even _those_ voices faded as Pidge’s blood rushed in her ears.

Just as her hands closed around the book’s spine, strong arms grabbed her and pulled her away from her classmate.

“What were you _doing_ , Pidge?” Hunk demanded.

“Protecting my book from that asshole!” Pidge shot back, wrenching herself from Hunk’s grip.

Dr. Yurak then appeared, calling for everyone to calm down while a few other teachers fought to disperse the crowd. He then helped Pidge’s classmate to his feet, and both of their gazes landed on her.

“Holt,” Dr. Yurak said, crossing his arms. “Why don’t the three of us take a walk to Mr. Iverson’s office?” Before Pidge and her classmate could follow him, he held his hand out to her. “First let me see what you fought over.”

Pidge stared at his outstretched hand, fear overcoming adrenaline for a moment, but when she met Dr. Yurak’s eyes – eyes that promised retribution if she didn’t obey, eyes that she now noticed were mismatched with one a lighter brown than the other – she stiffly passed the book to him.

“ _Voltron_ ,” he read, gaze falling on the cover. To her amazement, he sounded curious rather than angry, and as she watched he flipped the book over to examine the back cover. With a frown and another brief instant of hesitation, he returned _Voltron_ to her, face mostly impassive.

Pidge clutched _Voltron_ to her chest, unable to resist smiling; her heart still beat with the thrill of a battle fought and won, so she couldn’t bring herself to even _pretend_ to feel remorseful, not when a teacher that hated her didn’t even try confiscating an artifact so precious to her. So she followed Dr. Yurak towards the principal’s office without argument.

Her only regret was that her mother would be furious with her.

* * *

Pidge’s punishment for the fight was to be a single day of suspension and two days of detention after, which was fine, except for the fact that her mother _hated_ leaving Pidge alone at home.

To her surprise and relief, Mr. Iverson considered it a warning infraction and didn’t call Colleen to report it, instead leaving it to Pidge to inform her, but when she asked her how school was over dinner that evening, she only responded in simple, one-word answers.

Colleen didn’t press her, likely interpreting her stiffness as disappointment over their ruined weekend plans, and Pidge let her. But it didn’t stop shame from churning in her gut, especially not the following morning when she woke up and prepared for school as usual, only to walk to the nearby public library and spend the day there instead.

Out of guilt, she didn’t even allow herself to touch _Voltron_ , her curiosity dissolving in the wake of betraying her mother – twice in less than a week. She hadn’t even finished a page, and at the moment the book held no interest to her.

Instead she signed up for a library card and checked out a science fiction novel at random; when she started reading it, she learned that it was the third in a series she’d never even heard of before.

Pidge kept reading anyway.

She messed around on her computer for a couple hours too, logging into the library’s slow but free Wi-fi, playing games and researching colleges. Every time she broached the topic of going to college with her mother, even when she mentioned a specific university, Colleen was quick to suggest she start off at a community college.

Her mother was so _stifling_ sometimes that Pidge couldn’t help but wonder how different their lives would be if her father – and brother – were still with them.

 _With them_ and _not here_. Why _did_ Colleen never say they were ‘dead’? She spoke so carefully – a skill of her trade, Pidge supposed – and so rarely about them, but she never once mentioned their _deaths_.

 _Why the hell not?_ Pidge rubbed her face, suddenly weary of _everything_ ; her nerves felt frayed, like they usually were when she prepared for final exams or some other mentally exhausting ordeal. And analyzing every word Colleen spoke of her father and brother didn’t help. Even the quietly busy hum of the library couldn’t soothe her like usual, not when her eyes fell on mothers reading books to their small children, something her own mother never even did for her.

About an hour after school dismissal time, Pidge collected her belongings and left the library, heading back to the apartment complex. She put on her headphones, raising the volume on her mp3 player loud enough to at least deaden the sound of passing traffic if not drown it out entirely.

She hummed along with the music, trying to distract herself from her problems, but when someone tapped her on the shoulder, she jumped away from them, arms flailing wildly.

It was Hunk, who smiled apologetically at her. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I guess I should’ve been louder to start.”

Pidge paused the song and pulled her headphones down to rest around her neck as Hunk matched her pace. “Do you live in this direction?” she wondered. If she had to avoid him outside as well as _in_ school…

“Nah, I convinced the registrar to give me your address so I could drop off some homework for you.” He reached inside his vest for a pocket and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper. “I asked people in your classes and made a list.”

Impressed and flattered despite herself, Pidge accepted the paper from him. “Why?”

“Well, I figured that some of your teachers won’t appreciate late homework,” Hunk explained, “especially since you were suspended rather than sick.”

Pidge crossed her arms. “Yeah, I’m sure Dr. Yurak would love another reason to pick on me.”

“Dr. Yurak?” Hunk glanced sideways at her and nodded in understanding. “I’ve never had him, thankfully, but I’ve _heard_ things about him…”

“Like what?” Pidge turned a little towards him, curious. “Dish.”

Hunk grinned, looking more impish than friendly, and said, “Of course, there are the rumors of him making his students burst into tears.”

“That’s not a rumor, Hunk,” Pidge pointed out. “I’ve seen it for myself, and I’ve only been here a week.”

“Right, right.” Hunk frowned thoughtfully and then continued, “Well, I guess I can skip to the craziest rumor.”

When he paused, Pidge prompted, “Which is…?”

“A former student punched him.”

Pidge halted in her tracks. “What?”

“Yeah, okay, here’s the thing:  did you ever meet Keith?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t sound familiar.” Except it did, but she couldn’t put her finger on why…

“Oh, then maybe he got expelled before you moved here,” Hunk said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter, “but anyway, Keith was – or is, I guess – a twelfth grader, and he was in Dr. Yurak’s AP lit class. Probably the same one you’re in now.”

“Of course.”

“So there was an incident at the very beginning of the school year a few months ago, and Keith’s…well, I’m not sure if they’re related, but his guardian got called in after a bad and very public argument in Dr. Yurak’s class.”

“What did they argue about?” Pidge wondered, captivated by the story, if only because there was something comforting about another student – however long gone they were – being targeted by Dr. Yurak.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Hunk said. “That’s like the one thing no one ever talks about, but Keith’s guardian came in, and apparently he and Dr. Yurak knew each other – he might’ve been an old student or something – because next thing I hear, Dr. Yurak’s jaw needed to be wired shut.”

Pidge gaped at him, grip on her page of homework assignments loosening in shock. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Hunk said, his smile full of glee. “I saw the injury myself; it’s probably been fully healed for only a couple weeks now.”

“Oh my God,” Pidge said with a grin. “This is the best news I’ve ever heard.”

“Isn’t it?” Hunk shook his head. “Dr. Yurak is the only AP lit teacher, so I kind of hope he gets fired before next year when I have to take it.”

They walked through the entrance of the apartment complex, moving towards Building G, and Pidge didn’t even mind Hunk’s company.

“Maybe I can make something happen,” she considered, her mind working. When Hunk looked at her with interest, she explained, “I’m a bit of an amateur hacker. If I can find some dirt on—”

She cut herself off when her eyes fell on the empty parking spot labeled with their apartment number. “Where’s my mom?” she asked with a confused frown. When Hunk only shrugged at her, she said, “She should’ve been home by lunchtime today. Unless I got the day wrong…”

Heart beating with anticipation and a sudden rush of fear, Pidge took the steps up to the apartment door two at a time. Distantly she felt the vibrations of Hunk’s footsteps on the staircase, but she ignored it and rested her hand on the door knob.

The door swung open with a gentle nudge.

Pidge’s heart jumped into her throat as she took in the state of a ransacked apartment, books and plastic DVD and CD cases strewn over the floor of the front room, boxes still unpacked overturned, their contents – everything from clothes to kitchenware – dumped out onto the floor. Behind her, Hunk inhaled sharply in surprise as he peered over her shoulder.

The rational part of Pidge knew that whoever did this could still be around, could still pose a threat, but the rest of her just wanted to find her mother. She sprinted into the apartment, dropping her backpack in the doorway, and shouted, “Mom?!”

No one replied, and except for her erratic heartbeat and shallow frightened breathing, the apartment was silent. And after she ducked into each room – checking the shower and every closet and underneath the beds – she confirmed that Colleen was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle in; it's going to be a bumpy ride


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura returns, and Pidge gets answers she didn't expect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please suspend your disbelief at the door, and enjoy the chapter!!

Pidge searched for clues, any hints that could help her glean where Colleen had gone and who took her, because there was _no way_ she’d vanished like this.

“Hunk,” she said while she sifted through the mess of books and broken discs on the floor, “do you have a cell phone?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hunk said, and when she eyed him expectantly, he tugged a phone from his pocket, unlocked the screen, and passed it to her.

Pidge dialed her mother’s phone number and waited, and waited, and waited through the ringing, but Colleen’s voicemail greeted her instead. She left a message for Colleen to please call her on Hunk’s phone as soon as possible – that she was wondering when she would be home that afternoon – then hung up.

She redialed her mother’s number, but this time she closed the line immediately when she heard the voicemail greeting. Scowling, she returned Hunk’s phone to him.

“So…?”

At the question in his tone, Pidge shook her head and said, “I’m going to look around and see if I can find anything.”

“D-do you want any help?”

Pidge looked directly at him for the first time since she noticed her mother’s truck missing. She narrowed her eyes at him, noting his frown and the way he clasped his hands together; he was scared, like her, but unlike her he didn’t have a stake in this.

Hunk could walk away now, and if he never saw her again it would be fine.

“No,” she said. “It’s better I do this on my own.”

“Are you sure?” he asked with obvious hesitation.

Pidge crossed her arms and nodded.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow,” he said, though he sounded doubtful. But he smiled – forcefully – and left through the still open apartment door, leaving Pidge alone in a ransacked room with no obvious signs of her mother.

Pidge first ascertained that Colleen’s cell phone was missing, and when she couldn’t find it anywhere – not plugged into the wall charger beside her bed, nor in the purse on the kitchen counter that should’ve been with her too – something like relief filled her, that maybe her mother would receive her message and call her – or Hunk, really – to reassure her that she was all right, she just had an emergency for work that took her away for now, and—

A sharp knock came from the front door. Pidge straightened and, her mother’s favorite black leather purse swinging from her hand ready to be used as a club, cautiously approached the door.

Hunk had closed it on his way out, but it remained unlocked. Likely as not, the person on the other side had no hostile intentions, but Pidge still peered suspiciously through the peephole.

Allura looked straight back.

Pidge unlocked the door and stared up at her, and before she could greet her with anything more than a smile, Pidge demanded, “What do you want?”

“I—what?” Allura said, whatever prepared words she had almost visibly escaping in surprise. “Is your mother not home?”

“No, she’s not,” Pidge said, crossing her arms – her mother’s purse clutched to her chest – and glaring at Allura. “As you can see, my mother’s car is gone too.”

“I…see.” Allura pinched her lips together, but when her gaze drifted over Pidge’s shoulder and into the apartment, her eyes widened. “Pidge, would you please let me in?”

Pidge examined her face – her worried frown, her slightly wrinkled nose – and considered what her mother would do. Well, she knew what her mother would want _Pidge_ to do:  slam the door in a stranger’s – or near stranger’s – face and call _her_. But Pidge was on her own until she could find her mother, and to do that, she first had to find out what happened to her.

Pidge generally had no reason to trust her instinct, but in this case it told her Allura was not her enemy, so she opened the door wide and waved her inside. And she asked, “How do you know my mother?”

“It’s a…long and complicated story,” Allura said with a slight smile. “Perhaps I can make us some tea, and then we’ll talk.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at her, but after a second’s consideration she nodded in agreement. She locked the door – and doublechecked that she did – behind Allura, then led her into the kitchen and found everything they needed for tea. It took longer than it should’ve since Pidge was still unused to the arrangement in this unfamiliar kitchen, but soon enough the kettle sat over the stove, ignited beneath it. Pidge grabbed a jar of honey and two mugs from the cabinets while Allura prepared a pair of teabags.

“I prefer loose leaf,” she admitted, “but beggars can’t be choosers.” She glanced at Pidge, an odd, incomprehensible look in her eyes. “Did I use that expression correctly?”

Pidge stared at her. “Yeah,” she said. “Is…English not your first language?”

Allura tapped her chin, considering. “In a way, I suppose not.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, I’ve been speaking the language you call English all my life.” The kettle whistled, emitting steam from the spout as the water inside boiled, and Allura turned off the stove and lifted the lid to drop the teabags inside. “But where I come from, it’s called Altean.”

Pidge put a spoon in each mug as she glanced at Allura questioningly. “I’ve never heard of that language,” she said.

“Yes, I’m not surprised.” Allura fell silent then, focusing on pouring Earl Grey tea into a pair of mugs. When she finished she stirred honey into her mug, and while Pidge put some in hers, she wondered, “What has your mother told you about me?”

Pidge sat at the kitchen table, Allura taking the chair across from her, and she said, “Nothing. After you visited, I asked, but she didn’t tell me anything.” She stared into her tea, watching the light play on the surface, her own frowning, confused face looking back at her.

Allura wrapped her hands around her mug and sighed. “That doesn’t surprise me either.”

Pidge propped her elbow up on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “So what’s the story?” She glanced at the clock, and though fully aware of every second that passed that she didn’t know her mother’s whereabouts, she reassured Allura, “We have plenty of time for a long story. I probably won’t get hungry for at least another hour.”

(Which was a lie, since Pidge skipped lunch…not that Allura needed to know that.)

“Very well. Let’s see…” Allura’s eyes wandered around the kitchen, and Pidge tapped her fingertips against the table impatiently while she waited for her to collect her thoughts or whatever it was she did while she didn’t speak.

When Allura still said nothing, Pidge pointedly cleared her throat. She startled, but looked at Pidge, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid it’s difficult to discuss.”

Pidge rolled her eyes; she was getting _very_ tired of that excuse, whether it came from her mother or from the stranger sitting in front of her. “I think you’ve procrastinated long enough,” she said, harsher than she meant to.

Allura didn’t seem to mind her tone, but she said, “In truth, I cannot tell you as much as you will want to know, but I will tell you as much as I can.”

“Fine,” said Pidge.

Before she could press further, Allura said simply, “I’m from a different world.”

“Like an…alien?” Pidge tilted her head sideways, confused. “An extraterrestrial?”

“Hmm, I expected you to laugh,” Allura admitted, tapping her chin.

Pidge shrugged. “I expect some proof, so there’s really no point in questioning your claims yet.”

Allura seemed satisfied by this response, but then she said, “Well, not exactly like an extraterrestrial.”

“Then like…?”

“Perhaps I should detail the night I met your mother.”

Pidge crossed her arms and rested them on the table. Her tea sat at her elbow, still untouched, steam no longer curling out of the mug. “The sooner, the better,” she said impatiently.

“Well, that night I…quarreled with my father,” Allura explained. She dropped her hands into her lap, eyes drifting down to the table and looking less like a woman and more like a girl close to Pidge’s age. “We had different opinions about what we – what _Altea_ – should do in the fight against Zarkon”—

There it was again, that _name_.

—"and it cost us dearly. He was cut down in front of me; Zarkon did the deed himself.” Allura turned her head jerkily, eyes glassy with unshed tears, but her voice was steady as she continued, “Coran fought Zarkon’s lackey, keeping him away from me, but when Zarkon turned his attention to me, I – and he and his lackey – was _pulled_ away from Altea into your family’s living room.” She paused, and met Pidge’s gaze steadily, giving her the chance to process.

Pidge’s heart pounding wildly, erratically, mind slow to accept what her ears heard. It just…didn’t make _sense_. “When you say ‘cut down’, you mean—”

“Killed, murdered, slain.” Allura sipped at her tea almost nonchalantly.

Pidge imitated her mechanically, taking a single long draft of warm liquid and wishing it was still hot enough to burn her throat on the way down, if only to shock her out of this strange fever dream. She put her mug down then, wiping a stray drop away from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Zarkon and I are characters from a book,” Allura said, the last damning statement, the final nail in the coffin that was Pidge’s innocence. “When you were very young – I believe the next time I saw your mother she said you were two years old at the time – Colleen read three of us out of a book, and in our places, your father, brother, and dog vanished.”

For some bizarre reason, Pidge’s first response to that was, “We had a dog?”

Allura’s eyes widened and she replied, “So your mother told me.”

“Huh.” Pidge looked at her hands. “I’ve always wanted a dog, or a cat, or any pet really, but we move around too much.”

“Pidge—”

“What do _you_ know about my father and brother though?” Pidge said, gaze shooting back up to pin Allura to her chair.

“Not very much,” Allura said with a regretful smile. “Your father was an astrophysicist, and your brother was four years older than you, I think, and had just started school.”

“And my mother…read them into a book.” Pidge rubbed her face, ran her fingers through her hair, stunned. “Why…why didn’t she _tell_ me?”

“Would you have believed her?” Allura asked. “Do you believe _me_?”

“Yes,” Pidge said without hesitation, because as unbelievable as it was – as amazing and improbable and _illogical_ – she had no other explanation. What was that one Doyle quote? “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

Except, well… Maybe there _was_ a more realistic explanation, one that she hadn’t found yet, though all the pieces clicked into place, such as the reason that her mother never read aloud to her in as long as she could remember. And the longer Pidge considered it, she knew that more gaps in her knowledge would fill.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” she repeated, half to herself. Her thoughts churned unpleasantly, unable to settle on anything concrete, and she couldn’t even _begin_ to understand how she felt. One part hurt and betrayed that her mother never explained, and one part guilty and ashamed that Pidge never _understood_.

“As difficult as it is for me to speak of,” said Allura, meeting Pidge’s eyes, “I imagine it is much the same for your mother. Please don’t be angry with her, Pidge; she hid it and moved you around and avoided _me_ out of love and to protect you.”

Pidge cast her eyes down, shame filling her and replacing anything else she might feel. “I know,” she said. “But…Allura?” When she hummed in acknowledge, Pidge asked, “Why is it so hard to find the copy of this book… _Voltron_? I couldn’t even find any reference to it on the Internet, as if it doesn’t exist at all!”

Allura scowled. “Because Zarkon destroyed any record of it,” she explained bitterly. “Any copy he comes across, he destroys, and it’s old – and was unpopular enough – that even no electronic copies exist, or so we think.” She sighed and, tone heavy with foreboding, added, “He has no interest in returning to _his_ universe, and is already beginning to conquer this one. And I’m doing my best to stop it, like before.” She didn’t sound proud when she said that, only weary. “As far as I know, the last copy of _Voltron_ belongs to your mother, or it did. I imagine the men that took her must’ve stolen that as well.”

“I…no, they can’t have,” Pidge said, her eyes widening. “ _I_ had it.”

“You what?” Allura stared at her in shock. “Pidge, _you_ have it?”

“I stole it,” she admitted. “My mother refused to discuss it, and I wanted to know _why_.” She curled her hands into fists.

“That’s…Pidge, this is _perfect_!” Allura stood up and grabbed Pidge’s wrist, tugging her along with her. “Bring it! I need to take it somewhere safe.”

“Wait, what?” Pidge shook her head. “No, it’s staying with me.”

“But—”

“It’s the only link I have to my _other_ missing family,” she retorted, scowling at Allura. “ _Your_ family may be out of reach, but _I’m_ getting mine back.”

Allura dropped her arm, eyes wide with shock. “Pidge—”

“I’m…sorry,” Pidge said, a new source of guilt creeping over her. “But I need to keep the book. _I’ll_ keep it safe, and doesn’t Zarkon know about you if you’re from the same world?”

Allura crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “Zarkon is _not_ from Altea,” she pronounced haughtily. “He is Galra, from Daibazaal.”

Pidge’s head spun with all this information, but she only said, “Right, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Oh, well, yes, we are from the same… _book_ , I suppose.” Allura touched her chin. “Quiznak, that’s so _strange_ to say out aloud.”

 _Quiznak?_ “What did you want from my mother anyway?” Pidge wondered.

“Oh.” Allura glanced at her. “I came to warn her – too late now, I’m afraid – that one of Zarkon’s best agents operates nearby.”

“Really?” Pidge said. “Who?”

“His name is Sendak,” Allura explained. “He was the third of us from the book, but like Zarkon, he lives under a pseudonym. I have yet to find it out, unfortunately.”

“Why do you think he’s _here_?”

Allura sighed. “It’s all too complicated to explain.” She rested a hand to her forehead. “For now, suffice to say that someone under Zarkon’s thumb tipped me off that Sendak was here, near Washington, D.C.”

“And you think he found my mother?”

“I’m _certain_ of it.”

“Is my mother…you said that Zarkon doesn’t want to go back into the book?” Pidge said, glaring fiercely at Allura.

Allura didn’t shrink under her glare. “Yes,” she said, “but I don’t believe your mother is in any _physical_ danger. I’m not sure what he’s planning, but according to my contact, it _does_ involve a reader. He wants the book gone, but not the woman who pulled him out of it.” She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against them.

“Where would they have taken her?”

“To Zarkon’s center of operations,” said Allura.

“Which is where?”

“It’s in—No, I see what you want here.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Pidge, and when she only met her gaze defiantly, she said, “Pidge, you can’t go racing off to fight Zarkon on your own.”

“Tell me where they took my mother.”

“No.”

“Allura, _tell me_ ,” Pidge insisted, staring her down. “If you want to give me a reason that I should trust you, then _tell me_.”

Allura considered for a moment, but then she sighed. “On one condition.”

“What?” Pidge’s heart beat rapidly in anticipation of her answer.

“We will go rescue your mother and put a stop to Zarkon’s plans _together_ ,” said Allura, putting a stern finger up like she was a teacher lecturing a young student. “And you will wait for _my_ approval before we leave.”

Pidge’s hands curled into fists as she scowled, but Allura was right:  she had to be _patient_ and clinical about this, and Allura had been countering Zarkon for a long time, probably longer than Pidge had even been alive. Grudgingly, she said, “Fine.”

“Good,” Allura said, her smile full of relief. “Zarkon also operates under a pseudonym, and I’m afraid he’s a well-known and _connected_ man.”

“What?”

Allura frowned and admitted, “He’s the president of Drule University, in Chicago.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, her mind flashing to one of the universities most frequently visited in her Internet browser. It was small and cutting edge, pushing the limits of technology, or so they liked to tout.

It looked like Pidge would be attending her dream college after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't mean to go as long as i did without updating, but rest-assured i have not abandoned this fic
> 
> ~~now i just have to continue writing it~~
> 
> find me trapped [on the web](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think so far??


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